Ten Vicis Centum
by Skyhiatrist
Summary: Ten Times One Hundred. Ten drabbles glancing over missing moments from DH. Varying characters.


Ten Vicis Centum

**i.**

"Ok Fred, that's enough," he whispers.

"Come on," he says as the tears start to fill his eyes. "The joke's over."

The body doesn't stir, so instead the world falls away.

"Please?" he begs. He can feel someone tugging on his arm. The first tear falls, onto the pale cheek of his brother, and everything turns black. He shuts his eyes.

His voice becomes strained, challenged by the wrenching sobs that now rack his body. "This isn't funny anymore," he chokes.

"Come on George, come away."

And he does. Because for everyone but him, the fight is not yet finished.

**ii.**

It hurts, oh God, it hurts so much, but she must keep going. There is blood everywhere she looks, and she prays that it is hers alone. This task is more difficult than she had thought it would be, but she has to give it her all. She screams as another pain flames through her body, the worst one yet, but then, suddenly, she feels a blessed relief. There is silence, and she holds her breath. Then, quietly at first, she hears the crying.

"Congratulations!" the Healer says. "It's a boy!"

She pushes herself up.

"Is he ok?" she asks.

**iii.**

Draco has done wrong. Draco has been a bad boy. Draco must be punished. Draco did not do as he was told, Draco failed the Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord does not like failure. So what to do? Kill his family? Too quick. Kill him? Even quicker. But the Cruciatus Curse, oh, how well it has served him. Like an old friend, something upon which he knows he will always be able to rely, unlike the fickleness of his so-called followers, who tend to do nothing but disappoint him. Yes, the curse will do nicely for Draco after all.

**iv.**

Love is in the air.

Like golden dust it falls on her and she feels it like a force beyond magic.

Love is in the air.

In the room next to hers, he's sleeping. Soundly, his breathing heavy. She cannot sleep in all the excitement. Oh, how she looks forward to the wedding!

Love is in the air.

The dress is perfect, the garden looks perfect. Everything is perfect.

Love is in the air.

Could there be a better time to tell the man she's in love with him?

Oh Ron, can't you feel it?

Love is in the air.

**v.**

A thousand ghosts look down on him, daring him to move. A thousand angry spirits lurk beyond the door, daring him to stay. All he can do is breathe, and know that if he waits just long enough, suspended on the straining thread between his truth and his lies, someone else will snap it for him and he can be set free. But for now he must wait, listening only to the orders of those he despises and ignoring the accusations that cut him to his core.

Severus curls his hand around the letter. In the Headmaster's office, he waits.

**vi.**

It's night time. He knows that because 'it's gone all dark like this'. He smirks to himself in his bedroom.

_Smart arse_, he thinks.

_Scrawny little smart arse_.

His smirk becomes a grin, and his brain flickers with a spark of admiration. Harry Potter may be a skinny, arrogant, bespectacled, orphan boy with a disfigured face and no muscles to speak of, but Dudley knows that there is a world out there that's daft enough to think he's a damn hero.

(Those awful _things_).

_Maybe_, he muses, _it's time he was thought of as a hero in this world, too_.

**vii.**

Sort of a silly thing to be, really, cooped up like this. There are a thousand things I ought to be doing, and I jolly well won't get any of them done in this damp and dingy cell. _You know Harry Potter_, they say, _tell me where he is_! Of course I know Harry Potter, everyone does, don't they? You know, I never believed that he was a dark wizard for _one_ second! Daddy did at first, but I gave him a rather stern talking to, that set him straight! Now, let me think, have I tried this brick _here_?

**viii.**

This is a town, and it is quite small,

This is a street, the smallest of all,

This is my cart, it goes rather slow,

This is just fine, there's no hurry you know,

This is my shirt, it shows who I am,

This is my job, your local milkman,

This is a photo, of my two sons,

This is a day when well all had such fun,

This is my youngest, not so young now,

This is quite sad, but we all know how,

This is the way, that everyone's bred

Except my son Colin, because he is dead.

**ix.**

I should be there. I should be there. I should be there. I should be there. I should be there. I should be there. I should be there. I should be there. (But I'm so damn scared!) I should be there. I should be there. I should be there. (They won't want me back. I wouldn't want me back!) I should be there. (I'm sorry Hermione.) I should be there. I should... (Jesus Harry, how could I do this to you?) I should be there. I should be there. I should be there.

With them.

I have to go _now_.

**x.**

Harry wants to walk with them. He wants to take them to his murder. He wants them right by his side because he loves them so god damn much. He can't tell them, though, because they already know. They already know. And, oh God, he's so scared to die. He doesn't want to die. Nobody does. But so many people already have. One more won't count, right? It won't make any difference. He wishes Ron and Hermione were there, one holding on to each arm and ready to run. He swallows and drops the stone.

He doesn't want to die.


End file.
